The Winner
by Sacred Dust
Summary: Instead of Violet turning into a blueberry, it was her mother...and Violet isn't happy about it. Now she's more determined than ever to outlast the other kids and turn the tables on the eccentric chocolatier. (COMPLETE!)
1. Infraction

1: Infraction

Ω

It was one of the first lessons many children learned: "don't take candy from strange men." And yet no one heeded the old saying here, where it might be most important.

That could prove to be a mistake, Violet Beauregarde thought—because Willy Wonka was most definitely a strange man.

She should have known something was wrong when that big machine came down and ejected a stick of miracle three-course dinner chewing gum right in front of _her. _It was too awesome not to try, the temptation too much to resist—and the sights, sounds and smells of Willy Wonka's legendary chocolate factory had her spellbound.

But at that moment fate intervened. As Violet reached out for the treat, her mother—who loved gum almost as much as she did—snatched it instead, and happily began chewing away.

"Just testing it for you, champ," she winked. "Have to make sure it's safe."

Wonka made a weak attempt at telling her that, in fact, it was not quite safe yet—but much too late to make any difference. As Violet looked on in terror, her mother's face turned blue. Her body began to swell. She spit out the gum then, but it was no use; she grew and grew, turning bluer and rounder, until she was no longer the woman Violet recognized but a helpless giant blueberry.

"Hmm. Oh, my. How unexpected," Wonka said then, as if remarking on a broken nail. He turned to the nearest Oompa-Loompa. "Would you roll Miss Beauregarde's mother onto the boat and take her to the Juicing room immediately, please? Miss Beauregarde, you really should join her."

"The…the juicing room?" Violet repeated slowly. She was almost numb with shock.

"Yes. They're going to squeeze her. They have to get all that juice out of her immediately, you know," he chirped. Violet looked into his eyes and saw nothing—no sympathy, no remorse. There was only the eerie, fixed grin on his face and the lightness of his voice to indicate amusement.

Violet turned and walked slowly, like a robot, to follow the grim procession. The Oompa-Loompas merrily rolled her mother along the corridor onto the pink seahorse, and she climbed in to join them, shaking all over. "M-mom?"

"It doesn't hurt, sweetheart," Ms. Beauregarde murmured. "It just feels…very strange. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

"But Mom, you're…"

"Violet, listen to me. _Eyes on the prize," _her mother's face was hidden from view, but Violet could imagine her fierce expression. "Don't throw the game because of me. I was nothing, kiddo. I won a few lousy baton shows. You are my little champion. Now go back to them. Go back and do what you always do. Win."

_Win._ That word meant everything to a Beauregarde. Even now, it snapped her out of her stupor and fired hot blood back into her veins.

"Congratulations, Violet. You win!" Her preschool teacher said when she drew the neatest alphabet in class. It was an amazing feeling, the first victory she remembered out of hundreds. It was everything to her. Her eleven-year-old heart beat for that feeling.

Voted Most Likely to Succeed. Fourth grade.

As she stepped out of the boat and her senses returned, she heard the Oompa-Loompas nearby singing. It was an elaborate pop-style number with lyrics mocking her mother's plight.

Violet quivered with rage. She thought of strangling them all with her bare hands. But there was only one man responsible for this. He was the one she had to deal with, and she vowed to do just that.

"Okay, Mom," she whispered. "I love you."

"Show me. Beat them. Then we'll sue their pants off later."

Violet smiled in spite of herself. She wiped her eyes, hugged her blueberry mother (as well as she could), and took off for the Inventing Room. Oompa-Loompas scattered before her as she sprinted through, scarcely able to jump out of her way in time.

Junior Track Champion, four years running.

She only wished she were fast enough to kick up a fire and burn this place to the ground.


	2. Back on the Team

2: Back on the Team

Ω

"Will Ms. Beauregarde be a blueberry forever?" Veruca Salt asked Mr. Wonka as the group continued down a red-carpeted hallway.

"No. Maybe. I don't know," he shrugged.

Mike Teavee couldn't hide the eagerness in his voice. "Will Violet have to quit the competition?"

"So it seems," the creepy confectioner chuckled. "Now who will we talk about gum with? Who will fill the silence with constant chewing noises? Truly, a loss for us all."

Mike laughed. Veruca smiled. Charlie Bucket just looked uncomfortable.

Mr. Salt was attempting to change the subject to his business, when suddenly…

A blue polyester vise clamped around Wonka's waist.

"HI, MR. WONKA!" Violet shouted happily. The entire party jumped.

Wonka actually cried out, in an unsurprisingly girlish fashion. He was afraid of her; Violet had noticed that the _first_ time she hugged him. If he thought that was scary, he hadn't seen anything yet.

She finally let go and gave him that same smile as before, dazzling and false. "Thanks a lot for getting Mom some help back there. That was a really silly mistake she made, huh?"

"Why yes, it…certainly was," Wonka said pleasantly through grinding teeth. He had a wild, calculating look on his face, as if wondering how much longer he was going to put up with this. "You're very welcome…I'm sure."

"Shouldn't you be _with_ your mother, young lady?" Charlie's grandfather said.

"Oh, she doesn't mind! And the Oompa-Loompas said she'd be just fine, so I could keep going."

Veruca smiled broadly. "Welcome back then, Violet! I'm _so_ happy to see you."

"And I'm even happier to see you!" Violet gushed. "Let's see what's in this room! It says nuts, but that can't be right. Mr. Wonka is nuts everywhere!"

The entire party laughed, with the exception of their ashen tour guide. The two V's breezed inside, arm in arm.

No sooner had they been reunited, though, than Veruca made a terrible mistake. Demanding that Wonka sell her father one of his trained squirrels for a pet (which he refused), then trespassing on the nut-sorting floor to steal one, the spoiled little nightmare drew the ire of every rodent in the vicinity.

The squirrels jumped on top of her, held her down and began to drag her towards the garbage chute in the center of the floor. As Violet watched in disbelief, Mr. Wonka dallied around with his keys trying to find one that would unlock the three-foot-high gate-as if he wouldn't have them all memorized!-while the girl was carried closer to her possible doom.

Violet was conflicted. Save her, one part of her cried. Just because Wonka gave up and tried to sacrifice another kid didn't mean _she_ had to just stand here. Let it happen, the other part said. The sooner the others are out of the way, the more easily YOU WIN.

She thought of the look on her mother's face, and the first side won.

"Just jump over the stupid gate!" Violet yelled out. "Haven't any of you done hurdles before?"

"I've read Yertle the Hurdle. Does that count?" Wonka said as he monkeyed around with the keys.

Violet ignored him and vaulted over the fence in one smooth motion.

Current record holder on the Wilder Elementary obstacle course, one minute fourteen seconds.

The grownups called after her, but Violet took the stairs three at a time and rushed the floor. But even with her speed, she was too late. Veruca tumbled down the garbage chute with a scream.

Violet stood there helplessly as the squirrels turned their eyes upon her. She stared back at them, and they seemed to reach a silent understanding. She made no move toward them; they chose not to attack her and scampered back to their stations. She heard Mr. Salt panicking over his daughter, demanding to know where the chute led.

"To the incinerator," Wonka said gleefully. "But don't worry, they only light it on Tuesday."

Mike stared bug-eyed at him. "Today _is_ Tuesday!"

"So it is. Well, there's always a chance that they decided not to light it today. You never know what strange, silly little things people will do." He looked down at Violet, who had just tried to rescue her biggest rival. "Um...isn't that right, little girl?"

She said nothing. Holding his gaze, she reached behind her ear to retrieve her old wad of gum and began chewing with a vengeance.

Wonka cringed.


	3. Changing the Rules

3: Changing the Rules

Ω

The tour continued somehow, despite the loss of two contestants and her mother, and Violet realized with some alarm that she was beginning to hate Willy Wonka.

She wasn't used to that feeling. Strong emotions were not part of a successful game plan, save for the desire to win. But this man with his chalky complexion, a pageboy haircut (which looked great on her but awful on him) and endlessly inappropriate behavior—he was something else. He pushed the button on the machine and offered that gum to her, knowing exactly what would happen if she chewed it. There was no question about it: he tried to sabotage her, and that was wrong.

He was supposed to be the referee here, the fair and professional authority who watched out for the players and decided the winner on his or her merits. Instead he was playing favorites (she suspected Bucket) and rigging his own game. This whole tour was too weird, too calculated. As far as Violet was concerned, Mr. Wonka was cheating. And one thing she despised even more than a loser was a cheater.

She chewed on, staring burning holes in the back of that purple coat as she walked.

Wonka stopped at the end of the hall and pressed a button. "I don't know why I didn't think of this earlier. An elevator is by far the most efficient way to get around the factory."

Violet balked momentarily at what awaited them. It was an elevator all right—a glass one, where you could see where everything was, and how high you were going…

She gulped. Despite her three rock climbing trophies, she wasn't that fond of heights.

"Are you coming? Or are you quitting after all?" Wonka said pointedly.

She shot him a look that could curdle chocolate milk and jumped aboard.

"There can't be this many floors," Mike declared. All four walls and the ceiling were full of buttons.

Wonka explained that in fact this elevator could go any way you wanted it to, not just up or down. Violet's stomach felt even worse after that, but she steeled herself.

The ride was as bad as she feared. Worse. They sailed sideways, diagonal, up to places so huge they shouldn't even be able to fit inside the factory. She felt her palms sweating and her legs shaking as the elevator passed over Fudge Mountain—and no, thinking of candy did _not_ help right now.

"It's okay," someone whispered next to her. It was Charlie. That softie. He even put his arm around her during the really rough parts. Violet shifted uncomfortably, feeling her face get hot.

No. A winner could not show weakness, with heights or…well, anything else. At least it was distracting her from the ride. After a while she was comfortable enough to talk. "There's no way the building is this big."

"Why not? Your mouth is that big," their host chuckled awkwardly. He did everything awkwardly. "And with all that gum-chewing I'm not surprised, Little Miss…er…something or other."

Mike snickered, but one look from Violet shut him up. She turned back and smiled again. "It's Violet, Mr. Wonka. Violet Beauregarde. And you should get used to me and my gum, _and_ remember my name. Because like I said, I'm going to win the big prize at the end."

"Is that so, Violet Beauregarde? Well maybe I'll start practicing then. Everybody off!" They stopped. The guests all stepped out, but Wonka was blocking her way. "…Except for me and the girl, I have to show her the gum room. Amuse yourselves until then!"

WHOOSH. He hit a button and the elevator rocketed back to life. Violet gasped and braced herself against the wall. Chills went through her body, and she had a nasty feeling that all her suspicions about this man were right.

"You were lying," she challenged him, but her voice was trembling. "There's no gum room in this place. There will be when I'm in charge, though."

"I didn't know you were afraid of elevators, Violet Beauregarde. But you don't need Charlie to help you get over that! In fact, I'd rather you stay away from him. Let me help you instead."

She looked him in the eye. "Who said anything about—"

ZOOM. He'd pressed another button, sending them suddenly to the left. The jolt sent Violet on her knees. "Oops! This thing just has a mind of its own sometimes." That vacant leer never left his face. He was crazy. She _knew_ he was crazy. "So tell me Violet Beauregarde, why are you still in my factory?"

"Because I want to win!" she shouted.

Another button. They hurtled downwards. The factory went by so fast she couldn't tell where they were. Violet gagged and covered her mouth.

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being sick.

"I know you're only a kid, Violet Beauregarde, and kids are kind of stupid. But you should know by now you're not going to win the prize. Is that all you can talk about? It's so boring. You, say something interesting so I don't push another button."

She tried to get up. "M-Mr. Wonka—"

"Sorry, I know my name. Not interesting."

The elevator lurched to the right, then up and diagonal, then down again. Wonka stood unaffected, unconcerned while Violet was rolled from side to side, bruising her hips and elbows on the walls. She'd never felt so sick or scared in her life. But he wouldn't break her.

"Would you like to throw up on my shoes now, Violet Beauregarde? That's enough revenge for your mother, don't you think? And I'll have an excuse to kick you off the tour! So much easier on both of us. The Oompa-Loompas are due to wash this elevator anyway."

Violet never gave up. Not ever.

Little Miss Stubborn award, first grade.

"I think you should go home now, Violet Beauregarde."

"NO!" she yelled at the top of her voice. It was loud enough that Oompa-Loompas in the administration office (where they were stopped) noticed and gave them funny looks.

The fury on Wonka's face was almost funny. He looked like a five-year-old who'd been denied his favorite toy. He jammed a button near the ceiling that sent them roaring back to the new hallway, where a sign on the wall said "THIS WAY TO TV ROOM."

"Fine," the candy man said petulantly. "Well, I don't wanna play with you anymore."

He stomped out in a huff and disappeared around the corner.

Violet gasped for air and rose to her knees, trying to get her bearings. She tested her jaw and realized she was chewing on nothing. Her gum was gone. That precious gum she'd been chewing on for three months. It wasn't on the floor; she must have swallowed it.

Violet's eyes welled up with tears. She was going to break her own world record with that. But it would be a small price to pay, if she could show up this psycho before the day was over. It was a strange discovery, a children's hero who hated children—how else could he do this to one of them? He hated them because he still was one on the inside, and hated himself.

At least now he had some company.

_Back on your feet, Violet, _her mother would have said. _Eyes on the prize._

She crawled out of the elevator and stood.


	4. Homestretch

4: Homestretch

Ω

Violet felt little for Mike Teavee when he lost his temper and railed against Wonka's idiocy, for inventing some of the world's finest technology only to make candy with. Maybe he was right, and hacking into Wonka's manufacturing system to ensure he would find a Golden Ticket was very impressive. But he'd never treated her with the same ironic kindness as Veruca, who at least had the wisdom to keep her enemies closer.

Bye bye Mike, she thought with a twinge of sympathy as he was teleported into Wonka's TV screen. Of course Wonka made no effort to help him or shut down the machines. Instead he chose to make silly remarks and halfheartedly grope toward a solution with a frightened Mr. Teavee. It was clear he was enjoying every minute of this.

Her heartbeat quickened as she realized only herself and Charlie were left. Just one more step away from winning.

"Well, I suppose it's just the two of us now," Charlie said sadly.

"Not for long." she replied, staring him down.

She _could_ be nicer to him, but Charlie was weak, and Violet was uncomfortable with weak people. Whiners, losers, babies, people unfit to compete—she didn't understand them. She was caught between a desire to protect them and pump them up with workouts and pep talks, and the more primal urge to knock them off the ladder so she could climb a few more rungs for herself. There was no way the Bucket kid knew about that side of Wonka she saw in the glass elevator, and it was best if he never did. But she was furious that the same reasons Charlie was losing the game of life made him the clear favorite to inherit Wonka's fortune.

Yes, she had heard the rumors from Veruca—that Wonka's real intention was to select an heir. And obviously he didn't want a strong winner. He wanted a patsy, someone he could mold. She, Veruca, and Mike could not be molded. And Augustus was simply a decoy. No, Wonka would do everything he could to make Charlie the last kid standing.

She reflected on his gesture of comfort a little while ago. Protect him or run him over, Violet wondered.

Maybe she would end up doing both.

"There's still so much left to see," said Mr. Wonka as they left the TV Room. "So, how many children are left?"

"Mr. Wonka, Charlie and Miss Beauregarde are the only ones," Grandpa Joe pointed out.

"Right you are, sir. Quite unexpected. But as long as I have guests, why, they must be entertained. Back into the elevator!" He smiled directly at her.

Violet froze. She could _not_ get back in there with him. But what choice did she have?

There were shuffling footsteps in another hall nearby. The party turned to see several Oompa-Loompas and Mr. Teavee on the way to the taffy puller with his now very little boy. Violet looked sidelong at Wonka, and the amused triumph on his face was chilling. Mike was the third kid who got hurt on his watch. She would have been another, if Mom hadn't swiped that gum.

If she won, she could stop him. Maybe. That was just another reason to finish this.

Humming pleasantly, Wonka turned around and stepped up to the elevator. Violet saw Charlie and his grandfather still watching the odd procession, and made her move. As Wonka shifted his weight, she stuck out her leg and tripped him. She watched with delight while he smacked face-first into the glass door and crumpled to the carpet.

"Gee, Mr. Wonka!" she said innocently. "You still seem a little shaken up from earlier. Maybe we should _walk_ to the next room instead?"

Grandpa Joe leaned over the man—as well as he could, that is. "My word. Are you all right, sir?"

"Violet is right. You really shouldn't strain yourself," Charlie said in his usual melancholy whisper.

"On the contrary young man, I am very much _re_straining myself." Wonka shot a cold look at Violet as he rose unsteadily to his feet. It was his first expression throughout the tour that reached his eyes.

She met it without flinching.

Ω

"And this is the gingerbread village!" the candy man said, gesturing grandly and breathlessly before them.

Charlie frowned in confusion. "Mr. Wonka, I think that's a fuse box."

Wonka opened his eyes. "Oh. Er, right you are. _This_ is the gingerbread village." He turned to the adjacent wall and opened a large brown door.

It had been a long walk from the TV Room, but nobody was complaining now. This room was an extraordinary sight of fresh gingerbread houses, decorated with too many other treats to list. The smell of fresh gingerbread was everywhere.

"I told the Oompa-Loompas Christmas was just a month ago, but they insisted," Wonka explained. "Go on, explore! And do try to keep out of trouble."

Violet caught the glint in his eye as he turned her way. He was plotting something.

She gave him a hard look and stepped cautiously onto the graham cracker streets. There was only one way to keep safe on this tour: stick close to Charlie and don't touch anything.

She followed after Charlie and Grandpa Joe as they explored the different houses. There was one with a rock candy fireplace, one with gumdrop shingles, one with chocolate floors and so on. It was great, and Oompa-Loompas were everywhere keeping the place up. There was even a crew of them building the newest house, carrying steaming slabs of warm gingerbread and setting them up on the candy grass.

It was hard not to notice, after a while, how the Oompa-Loompas seemed to do all of the work with most of the ideas, while Wonka just kind of stood around and watched. Violet tried, but she just couldn't connect him to this factory in her mind. She couldn't imagine him actually working and concocting new formulas. He seemed to have little interest or passion for these things he supposedly made.

Was something really your creation if all you had was the idea? Like that gum that tasted like real food. Violet had imagined such a thing, but if she didn't make it, who cared? Never mind what that gum made of her mother…

"Oooooo, this house is getting something new!" Wonka was calling them over to the next street.

She followed them to the largest house, which had a brand new Olympic-sized swimming pool in the backyard, already filled.

"Is that…" Charlie leaned closer.

"Hot frosting!" Wonka exclaimed. "It's the best thing for a gingerbread house. Can you imagine Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread coming home from work to relax in this? Why, it must feel simply delicious. Don't anybody get too close to it now. You wouldn't want to fall in and drown. That would get the frosting dirty. Say, what's that?"

Wonka pointed at something (nothing) overhead. Charlie and Grandpa Joe looked up. Reflexively, so did Violet. Suddenly she felt something long and pointy jabbing her in the back.

She screamed, lost her balance, and fell into the pool.

"Oh no. Oh my. I did tell you to stay out of there, Violet," he sighed when they turned back. "You naughty, naughty child."

"You pushed me!" she tried to yell at him, but she couldn't breathe. The frosting was everywhere, like quicksand, sucking her down to the bottom.

"My my, what a shame indeed. Drain the pool!" Wonka called to one of the workers. Suddenly the frosting became a whirlpool, taking the feisty gum-chewer right down the drain. Wonka flashed a triumphant smile at his other astonished guests. "She certainly was confident. But she was just in over her head. Er, Oompa-Loompas? You may sing her goodbye now!"

But the pint-sized workers just stood around, glancing uneasily at each other. They had seen what Charlie and his grandfather did not.

Wonka had pushed her in.


	5. Forcing Overtime

5: Forcing Overtime

Ω

She couldn't see. She couldn't breathe. Frosting was everywhere. Hot sticky sweetness, always her least favorite kind of candy. The opposite of gum that fit neatly in your mouth, this stuff went everywhere, and _was_ everywhere, it was endless and she felt herself falling and _I can't breathe, help me Mom, why can't I breathe—_

Then Violet felt herself being pulled from the smothering warmth, a long straw of some kind thrust into her mouth. She breathed gratefully. It was okay. She was going to be okay.

Over the next few hours, stiff and hardening frosting was slowly chiseled off her body. The stuff was like cement, weighing her down. She felt like a statue. The Oompa-Loompas' technique was rather awkward, and once her arms and head were free Violet could do most of it herself. They waited, watching her with unreadable expressions as she worked tirelessly to get free. It was as if her old body was gone and she was sculpting herself a new one—creating her own destiny.

Fourth annual Kids' Sculpting Contest winner, Murphy Candler Park.

Finally most of it was gone. She reflected on her prospects, which were grim. The game was nearly over, all hopes of a comeback out of reach—unless she got some help. And there was only one place it could come from.

"You all saw what happened, right?" she asked the tiny workers.

They were silent of course, but they were listening.

"He's not really that great a boss, is he?"

They shrugged at her, as if to say _no, but so what?_

"I'll make you guys a deal." Violet smiled.

Ω

The great glass elevator sank like the dreary winter sun, into the hole in the roof from whence it came. Willy Wonka was returning to his factory, but it no longer felt like home.

Where did he go wrong, he wondered? Why did Charlie refuse the offer? He was perfect. A good boy, didn't argue, took direction well…but then he folded, threw away the promise of everything the candy man showed him that day. And for what? His family? His p-p-pa-p-p-par-paaaaaare…oh, blast it. Those things that made children. That's what they really should be called, things.

Wonka at least could speak to grownups, because he knew they were already hopeless. But children frightened him, because their doom was still to come, like a time bomb that could go off at any moment. They were innocent transients, headed for destruction, making it to 10 or maybe 12 years of age before they were lost. And some children were already lost, like four of the five little nightmares he'd invited today.

Why only five children? Why choose them at random? He didn't know. He had some vague recollection of embracing the idea because, unlike most of the things happening in the factory lately, it _was_ his own idea. Now it seemed the Oompa-Loompas were practically creating things on their own. On some days it no longer felt like his factory, but theirs, and he was but a lingering presence in the shadows.

There was far too much on his mind today. He had to go see…well, that one psychologist Oompa-Loompa. They all looked so similar he could rarely tell them apart.

Ω

"I can't put my finger on it," Wonka confessed as he lay on the long sofa.

One of his pint-sized assistants sat close behind him, nodding patiently and scribbling on a notepad. He was merely writing "cuckoo" over and over, but of course Wonka had no way of knowing this.

"Candy's always been the only thing I was ever certain of, and now I'm just not certain at all. I don't know which flavors to make. I don't know which ideas to try. I'm second-guessing myself, which is nuts. I'm always right. About candy, about families, about absolutely rotten little children. If you don't believe me just ask me."

Out of the shadows, a hand gently tapped the Oompa-Loompa on the shoulder. He looked up, stood, and silently crept out of the room.

"I've always made whatever candy I felt like, and I…well that's just it, isn't it?" Wonka pondered aloud. "I make the candy I feel like, but now I feel terrible, so the _candy's_ terrible." He sighed and closed his eyes. "You're very good."

"I'm better than good," said the voice of Violet Beauregarde. "I'm the best."

For a moment Wonka went stiff, his eyes wide with fear—but then he realized, what did he have to fear from her? True, he had no idea how she got here, how she was still in here in torment him, but it was his factory.

He stood up from the sofa and faced her. She looked as determined and disagreeable as ever. Her jogging suit was ruined, caked and crusted with white frosting. She'd lost the shoes somewhere and her feet looked like little cement blocks, pieces crumbling on his nice carpet with every step she took. "I think our business was concluded here a long time ago, don't you, gummy?"

"_Violet."_

"Miss Gum-Chewer-Gummy-Chewy Face."

"You cheated."

"It's my game. My rules. You were really quite silly to think you could win," Wonka insisted. "Just a silly, spoiled little girl. And it seems you still haven't been punished enough."

Wonka snapped his fingers. A dozen Oompa-Loompas appeared and quickly surrounded her. He pulled one more piece of that defective three-course gum from his pocket and started towards her. She tried to back away but there was only the wall on one side, the midgets on the other.

The room seemed so dark all of a sudden. Violet couldn't even see Wonka's eyes as he advanced on her. His bloodless face never changed expression.

"This is what you like the best, isn't it? Your precious gum. And this kind tastes delicious. Yes, it _will_ turn you into a blueberry—but that was supposed to happen from the beginning. Don't fight it."

She shook her head. He was close now. Right in front of her.

"This game is not yours to win, Violet. It never was," Two of his fingers touched her face. They were ice cold. "Open wide-this won't hurt a bit."

Time for a trick play.

"Gee, you sound like your _father,"_ she whispered.

Wonka froze solid. His already deathly skin turned even whiter. A faraway look crept into his eyes. "F….f…fa…ther?"

He stood there in a trance, gibbering and flashbacking for several minutes. When he finally looked down again, Violet and the Oompa-Loompas were gone.

It seemed the game was not over yet.


	6. Sudden Death

6: Sudden Death

Ω

She was here.

She had to be here, Wonka thought with a twinge of desperation. He'd been looking all over the factory for the past hour or so, and an hour in the great glass elevator was enough to unsettle even his iron stomach.

The search was hampered by the fact that pint-sized help seemed to be in short supply. Everywhere he called for assistance from Oompa-Loompas, only a few stragglers unlucky enough to be in sight obeyed. The rest claimed to be busy-not that he didn't believe them, but it seemed an odd coincidence that-

Something was breathing. Wonka tensed, stopped in the middle of the chocolate room to listen. But it was gone now, just as if he'd imagined it. He saved this room for last, thinking it would be the hardest to search. He had no idea how right he was. With the lights off, the confectionary Garden of Eden became an underworld of countless sloping hills and shadowed plants to hide behind, with the slow rush of the chocolate river to hide many idle sounds someone might make. Why were the lights off? He had some vague pretense of surprising her, but this seemed less likely the longer he was in there.

It was funny, he thought. He saw Violet when she swiped a candy apple from Charlie and ate it that morning. The similarity to Adam and Eve was impossible to miss—and if Violet was Eve then he was God, the creator of this garden, with every right to punish her as he saw fit. But either this girl could hide much better than her predecessor, or he was not as all-knowing as he assumed, not so powerful, just an aging figurehead of an industry that demanded the fresh and new, and...

"_Hi, Mr. Wonka!"_

He squeaked with fright and whirled around. Violet was standing on the hill behind him.

She beamed. "Looks like we're in overtime, huh?"

"And how, may I ask, did you get in here?"

She shrugged. "Oh, no big deal. The Oompa-Loompas helped me."

He felt a chill. "Nuh-uh. The Oompa Loompas are on my side, you dumb, foolish little girl. I rescued them from Loompaland. I gave them caocao beans."

"You probably broke the law to get them here. Then you locked them up in a factory where you won't even pay them real money. That's what Mike said. I think they'll like me better."

"I bet you're wrong."

"I bet I'm right."

"I bet you're double wrong."

"How do you think I got down the river?" Violet retorted.

Wonka paused. "Um…champion swimmer?"

"Actually I am. But if I swam here, my clothes would be all brown and wet, instead of white." She taunted him. "I just gave them some gum and offered to help them row. They liked me after that. Do _you_ ever help them row?"

"That's not my job, Violet. I run this factory."

The smile disappeared from her face. "Do you really? I think this factory runs _you._ I think you're a crazy person who doesn't come up with half the things he puts out. And you shouldn't be selling stuff to kids if you don't like them."

"And who don't I like? Your little friends? They were naughty children, Violet. They deserved to be punished."

"Not any more than you," Violet said firmly. "You're not any less mean than we are. In fact, you're meaner. So this time, I get to punish _you."_

She bolted for the river in a flash of blue and white.

"Hey!" Wonka protested feebly. Now he had to run. When was the last time he had to run through his own factory? It was so dark he lost his footing a few times, and he was wheezing by the time he reached the riverbank.

She was already floating off on that ghastly pink seahorse boat, further into the depths of the factory—and she hadn't lied. A crowd of Oompa-Loompas was rowing with her.

"See you in the Nut Room, Mr. Wonka! Unless you're afraid the _squirrels _are on my side too."

"Hey! Stop! How can you do this to me?! I can be more like her! I can chew gum and lose the hat!" he called after them. It was no use; they vanished around the corner.

Wonka felt a sense of doom. Still breathing hard and holding his side, he ran for the elevator.

Ω

"Don't worry about me, guys. I can handle him," Violet whispered affectionately. The Oompa-Loompas nodded and retreated to the side exits. That was how it had to be, one-on-one—just like the last time, but with a different outcome.

It didn't take long. He came staggering through the door in minutes, stopping at the gate to see her waiting on the nut-sorting floor.

"Hey!" she waved casually. "Come on in and let's talk. The squirrels are on break as you can see."

Wonka's shadow stretched across half the room. He jingled his keys, trying to find the right one for the gate.

"Just climb over it!" Violet yelled again, losing her patience. "You could have done that before! And tried harder to get Augustus out of the river. _And_ shut down the machines before Mike got shrunk. The newspapers are going to hear all about that, you know. Children getting hurt in our factory and you not doing anything."

Wonka put away the keys and followed her advice, climbing timidly over the three-foot-high fence. "It's my factory, Violet."

"Not anymore. It belongs to the Oompa-Loompas. And me. I know what the real prize was. And I'm the one kid left at the end, just like I said I would be."

"No," he protested weakly.

"You should be honored. You're the first visitor to Violet Beauregarde's Chocolate Factory," she pulled out a brand new piece of gum and began to chew. It tasted wonderful. "Can I show you our new line of gum, sir?"

Wonka's face twisted in revulsion. He howled and made a mad dash at her down the stairs, raising his cane.

Violet let herself fall to the floor and spun, sweeping his left leg out from under him as he turned. _"Hah!" _Wonka staggered. She kept hold of the leg as she rose and kicked the other one out from underneath him. _"Yah!" _He crashed to the floor, his cane clattering out of reach.

Black belt in kickboxing, age 11.

"That was for my mother," Violet said.

She blew a whistle and stepped aside. Slowly the squirrels filed out of their tiny doors. It was time to return to work. It didn't take them long to see something on their floor that shouldn't be there.

"And this is for me."

Wonka looked up and gasped, seeing dozens of beady eyes and chattering mouths coming for him. And now Violet suspected another reason why he wouldn't come down here earlier: _he_ was afraid of them too. These squirrels had been well trained and could sniff out anyone who was a bad nut—even their owner.

One of them jumped upon his chest, rapped his forehead and came to an easy decision. Wonka flailed around uselessly as they scampered all over him, around him and then under him, taking him to the chute in the center of the floor.

Violet beamed with triumph as she stood over him. Her smile was brilliant, blinding, promising destruction.

Best Promise Keeper Award, kindergarten.

"_I win." _She said.

He screeched like a girl as they cast him into the pit.

Ω

Violet gave the Oompa-Loompas no orders regarding the furnace. Maybe finding Veruca and her father in the trash reminded them of their laxity, and they had already lit the incinerator. But maybe not.

Wonka deserved the same odds as the rest of them.

Her mother had all the blueberry juice squeezed out of her and soon returned to normal. After the little men apologized for singing about Violet's mother (all the songs were at Wonka's behest, they claimed), they got along swimmingly. After ensuring that there would be a new line of Wonka chewing gum, Violet handed over the factory to Charlie and his family. She cared about the victory more than the prize.

There would be many other games to play, other trophies to win. But her 264th would always be her favorite.

Ω

Ω

_"The 4 accidents that await the 4 supposedly bad kids are quite similar to the Wilder version. But this time, there is some notable hypocrisy. The truth is, in this version, Willy Wonka is no better than the 4 kids who have a nasty accident."_

_**-Bradley Headstone on Amazondotcom**_

Author's Note: Ahhh, the remake. That movie really was kind of weak when you think about it. I mean, it looked good, but it didn't make any sense. That script? We could have written it and maybe done better. But the biggest letdown for me was Johnny Depp's Wonka. He's impossible to identify with. He's just weird for the sake of being weird; not even his childhood (terrible subplot BTW) explains his behavior.

I really wanted to throw a wrench into things and give this super-creepy character his just desserts, and since Violet was my favorite kid in both of the movie versions, I picked her to be the wrench. The 2005 Violet is driven, mature, and very human-everything her adversary is not. All she needed was some smarts and extra motivation to become Wonka's worst nightmare.

Please review! I hope you all enjoyed this.


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